


Heir of Grief

by derseroyalty



Category: Banana Bus Squad
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Gang AU, M/M, sorry tyler love u
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-08
Updated: 2018-02-21
Packaged: 2019-03-15 16:27:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13617174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/derseroyalty/pseuds/derseroyalty
Summary: coming to terms with his death is so much harder than you thought. you can’t afford to break down, no matter what, until one day you just give out.he wouldn’t have wanted this.





	1. ruin

**Author's Note:**

> something short again! 
> 
> act one scene zero's next chapter should be coming out soon, it's 1/4 of the way done. love me some happy/sad scenes.

It doesn’t occur to you at some point that you have burns all over your hands and arms covered with blood too. 

What _does_ occur to you, however, is the fact that there’s someone draped across your shoulders and Craig is screeching into your ears at the top of his stupid fucking lungs.

“WILDCAT!” He’s been screaming, tears streaming down his face. “WE HAVE TO FUCKING GO!”

You take in the body on your shoulders and grasp his hand, mutely nodding. Craig grabs your other arm and tugs you as hard as he can out of the warehouse you’ve just burned to the ground. 

Suddenly Marcel’s in your face, shocked expression evident as his eyes are huge. “WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED?!” He shrieks, tears forming. “TYLER! WHAT HAPPENED?!”

You can’t say anything. All you can do is grasp the bloodied hand that’s dangerously limp and take him to the car that’s waiting for you and the few crew members that went on this mission.

Scott’s driving, Marcel’s in passenger, and Craig’s sitting next to you while speaking frantically into the phone. He's shaking like crazy. You haven’t said a single word the entire time.

Everyone makes it home; well…almost everyone. 

You kick in the front door with the love of your life, Evan Fong, the notorious Vanoss, in your arms.

And he’s fucking dead.

* * *

Craig’s the only one who can actually get anything out about what happened. 

By that time, he’s already screamed and sobbed and tried to recall what the fuck happened, and the rest of the gang has shown up.

You’ve never seen Smitty cry that hard along with Anthony, and you feel like you’ve seen a new side of your friends as grief twists in their faces and tears run down their cheeks. 

“W-We just went in,” Craig stammers, eyes still wide. You’re sitting with Anthony; Brian literally fought you to try and get Evan’s bo—yeah. He had to fight you to get away from him. 

You still haven’t cried. Barely a single word from yourself, and although they won’t say it, you’re terrifying the crew.

The younger recruits (Smitty, Kyroz) know of your anger. Marcel and Anthony’s are famous, but you’re the one who has the legendary outbursts.

And now they’re all waiting for one. You won’t give them the satisfaction, so you just turn away and refuse to say anything. 

“I took down a few bodyguards, and Evan went for the documents and Tyler went with him.” Craig whispers, looking forlornly at you. “I…I don’t know what happened after that.”

They all turn to you, and you narrow your eyes. “Tyler?” Brock prompts, and you just turn back to stare out the window.

“Fucking hell,” Brian snaps, getting up. “I’m not fucking dealing with his ass. Delirious isn’t here yet and I don’t want to break the news to him.”

Your heart clenches at the masked assassin. Evan’s best friend, and he didn’t even know he was dead.

Evan was DEAD.

“Who wants to be the one?” Brian demands. They haven’t elected a new leader; not yet. It’s still too soon.

It’ll always be too soon. 

Nogla stands, to your surprise and heartbreak. The Irish bastard was much better off cracking jokes and making the crew laugh. “I’ll do it.”

Scott wearily lifts his phone. “He’s on his way. I told him it’s an emergency meeting.”

No one says anything after that. A few of them glance at you, but it’s not enough to get you to crack. 

You’re so fucking sad and tired. Where was Wildcat, your persona? Where was the rage, the anger, the burning words that would spill out of you like nothing? 

You think he died back in that building. Back with him. 

_“You go right, and I’ll go left?” He offered, and you could practically see the grin under his mask._

_You snorted. “We’re sticking together, idiot.”_

_“I know, just wanted to make sure babe.” He lifts the mask for a second and winks; you take in his sweaty black hair, his deep brown eyes, and you melt in his presence as always._

_The mask goes back on and Evan is Vanoss once more. “Let’s go get these documents.”_

There’s frantic knocking on the door. You can barely glance up as Smitty opens the door and Delirious bursts through, eyes wide and frantic.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, taking off his Jason Voorhees mask to address the whole crowd. Jon’s presence seem to bring a new wave of sadness among the BBS.

Delirious pauses and looks around, eyes starting to narrow. Out of the corner of your eye, you can spot him taking in the inhabitants of the room.

It’s too quiet as he finally asks, “Where’s Vanoss?”

True to his word, Nogla walks on over. The tear tracks are still visible on his face as he gently says, “Del, we need to talk to you.”

“No,” Delirious mutters, starting to clench his fist. “No, shut the fuck up. Shut the fuck up.”

“Something happened on a mission with Mini and Wildcat,” Nogla begins, reaching out to grasp the infamous blue hoodie. “We…we don’t exactly know what’s happened so far.”

After you started dating Evan over a year ago, Jon had sat down with you. His face was clean of his usual makeup and for once, the assassin wasn’t on guard.

“You take care of him,” he had said. “You better love him with all of your heart because if someone deserves it, it’s Evan. That’s my best friend, Tyler. _Take care of him.”_

It was so fucking easy to agree to that promise that you had never considered breaking it. And here you were; Delirious, furious and heartbroken, and he’s finally realized why you’ve been so quiet.

“You were with him, weren’t you?” Jon snarls, angrily approaching you while yanking away from Nogla’s grasp. Brock gets up, followed by Marcel with worried looks.

You don’t get up. Jon growls deep in his throat and grabs your blood covered shirt. You unfold your arms and don’t even wince at the burns on your hands. 

Anthony inhales and you finally stand up, looking down coolly at Delirious. “I suggest you back the fuck up.”

It’s been about two hours since you’ve said something. Your voice is hoarse, weak, and still raspy from the smoke you've inhaled from screaming. Evan's name tastes like fire on your tongue. 

"What the FUCK HAPPENED?!" Delirious roars, shaking you. "WHAT DID YOU DO?!"

Outside, the gray sky finally opens up and drops rain onto the pavement. You shove him off and push through the crowd of shocked BBS members. Marcel grabs at your shirt and Brock calls out in alarm and Brian turns away while Anthony tries to say something and Kyroz and Scotty stay silent and Smitty sobs and Nogla tries to hold Delirious back and you just registered that Lui and Ryan and Luke are at their other houses and they probably haven't heard the news yet—

You push open the front door and revel in the rain, stumbling into the street and promptly sitting right in the middle. Someone stops next to you and collapses onto the pavement. "Tyler," Brock whispers, shaking as he allows himself to get soaked along with you. "You're gonna have to break down at some point."

You open your mouth and shake your head. "No."

"You know Evan was open about his emotions," Brock insists. "He wouldn't have wanted this."

A familiar flame of rage burns in your stomach and your hands automatically curl up. "Don't say his name.”

"Tyler, if you don't open up about this..." His voice trails off. He catches sight of your hands again. "Do the burns hurt?"

You shrug and try to ignore the pain starting to flare up. "I guess."

Brock is firm as he takes your arm and walks you back inside. "Will you talk to us eventually?”

"Maybe." You respond, briefly closing your eyes. The sights reappear in front of you again; Evan’s smile, the fire, the way you held him as he was dying—

You reopen your eyes and catch Craig standing nearby. In the few seconds that you allowed yourself to drift, Brock managed to sit you down in a chair in the kitchen and grabbed the first-aid kit, shooing away the others. 

“Tyler?” He whispers, sitting down in the seat closest to you. “I understand if you don’t want to talk right now…I’m just worried about you. Do you need to talk to someone?”

You shake your head as Brock gently treats the burns on your hands and the few that crawled up your arms. “I’m fine.”

Craig just sighs and leaves you be. That’s fine. You don’t want to talk anyways. 

After that, they all leave you alone, and it’s exactly what you _(don’t)_ need.

* * *

A week and two days after the Incident, you find yourself holed up in Evan’s room again.

It still smells like him. His old red jacket is hanging in the closet; a replacement Night Owl suit is also in there. 

Hair gel and other vanity products are still in the bathroom. You can’t bring yourself to move them, but you do manage to look at yourself in the mirror. 

The man looking back at you isn’t Tyler Wine. He has greasy and messy sandy brown hair, dull blue eyes, and deep dark rings under those. 

You’ve lost weight. You don’t sleep and you barely talk to anyone.

Everyone’s dropped by at least once. Even Brian, who was originally pissed off, dropped his anger for grief and openly sobbed in Daithi’s shoulder.

Delirious is the only one who you haven’t seen.

By now, the gangs all over Los Santos have gotten word about Evan’s death. To them, he’s Vanoss, the badass gang leader who took no shit from anyone and rebuilt the city into a better place to live.

To you, he’s still Evan Fong, the man you fell in love with so long ago. 

Nearly two weeks after his death, Nogla comes in and tells the crew about his funeral. It’s fully paid for and every gang in the city would be there.

A few members cry again and you just turn away, nodding to Smitty that you’d be there. His eyes, the strange red and blue you’ve grown to love on this stupid nerd, widen and he opens his mouth.

“Tyler?”

For the first time in two weeks, you hesitate, and Smitty seizes his opportunity. “Do…do you need someone to talk to? I know I’m just a newbie and I don’t really know anything, but John tells me I’m easy to talk to and maybe it could do something.”

Hm. That’s not that bad of an idea. The obvious candidate is Brock, but you can’t stand his pity. Even Nogla’s offered, and you’ve actually considered it, but you just weren’t up for it. 

Maybe this kid could actually help. 

You look around to see if anyone’s watching; they’re all in the planning room, doing what the room was made for and planning Evan’s funeral. 

“Only for a minute,” you rasp out. “Then we’re done.”

Smitty gasps as you drag him into Evan’s room. His stark white hair is still ruffled from sleep, so he does his best to smooth it back as you close the door and sit him down in a nearby chair. 

“Listen here, and listen well, Smitters.” You say with a low tone. “Before the mission, we were assigned to grab some important documents. They were transactions for some guns and shipment, along with gunpowder.”

Smitty inhales oh so slowly. 

“We…we went in, and it was supposed to be so easy. We didn’t know there were people guarding the documents.” You try to get the thoughts out of your head. 

Evan’s smile is so bright and you are in love.

“Mini went off to disable the alarms. Evan and I almost split up to take on the guards, but we went together.”

Smitty leans forward just a tiny bit. “What happened?”

You swallow. It’s too much, you’re not going to be able to handle it, so you squeeze out as much as you can before your mouth shuts down. 

“T-The two of us did our best, and…and…the fire burned and he died. That’s it. The end.”

Smitty pauses and then screeches, “WHAT?! That’s IT?!”

“No more,” you manage to say. “It’s too much, I’m sorry.”

It’s the first time you’ve apologized and Smitty immediately accepts it. “Well…it’s progress, Tyler, and I appreciate it. Give it time.”

“I’m trying.”

He gives you a faint smile as he gets up and pats you on the shoulder, light as a feather. “The funeral’s tomorrow. Make a statement and wear something other than black. That’d be pretty cool.”

Your eyes slide to the infamous red jacket and you nod as he walks out of the room and slowly closes the door.

* * *

Somehow, you manage a shower and you even wash your hair. It’s over an hour long and for a split second, you can imagine you’re going on another date with the love of your life.

The thought gives you enough strength to look your best. If you can just pretend, you can get through this. 

You put on some nice pants, a black shirt, and some fresh sneakers. Teeth and hair brushed, you look back at yourself. 

In the mirror, Tyler Wine looks better than he has in a very long time. The only thing that’s different is your eyes. 

They’re so incredibly dull; Evan always complimented them, teasing but always sincere about how gorgeous they were. 

_“They’re beautiful!” Evan laughs, cupping your cheeks. “Before you asked me out, I’d try and stare at them every chance I could. Now I can just stare and then make out with you.”_

_You snicker and lean in, humming as Evan presses himself to your lips. “Love you, idiot.”_

_“I love you more!”_

There’s a knock on the door. You barely have enough time to look up as Scotty pokes his head in. “Are you going with us?”

You nod and grab Evan’s jacket as you walk out with your head held high. Scott’s eyebrows raise a bit and then lower, wisely not saying a word.

You slip the jacket on and make your way through the house, shoulders squared as you head out the front door and get into the car. Anthony’s driving and you immediately claim shotgun without a word. 

Your dear friend sneaks a glance at the jacket. “Hm…interesting choice of apparel, but I like it. You’re very important to him so it makes sense you’ll be the only one wearing color.”

You can’t even explain how grateful you are for Anthony, so you blink your appreciation and he gives you a small smile.

The ride to the funeral is silent. It’s a quiet autumn day; the sun is weakly shining through the clouds, but it’s not cold enough for thick coats.

It’s a day Evan would’ve liked, and the thought has you roughly swallowing the sadness that tainted your emotions.

Stoic and stone cold. That’s what you needed to be right now.

Arriving is even worse. There’s so many fucking people waiting, watching as Anthony and you get out of the car. No one wanted to bother being in the same area as you so they had Luke and Lui drive the other guys to carpool.

It’s numb as you walk through the crowd. There’s murmurs of apologizes and whispered sorrow, and several people gently clap you on the back. 

You are a flash of red against the black. Every eye in the room is drawn to you, and you merely ignore them all and make it to your seat at the very front. Smitty takes your left, Anthony takes your right, and you allow yourself to relax just a tiny bit.

Somewhere in the back, you can hear Adam crying with Max comforting him, and other gang members you and the crew associated with every other day sobbing as well. 

Vanoss was a terrific leader. Even if you were the only one that knew he tended to panic in leadership roles, he was the one that helped with the group and led them to their success. 

This would be a major blow to Los Santos, and the echo of it would be felt for decades. 

Someone walks up to the podium; it’s Brock, one of the few people everyone respected. When he pauses and waits to say something, everyone in the room stops talking and looks his way.

“Hello,” he says quietly. “Although it’s nice to see familiar faces, the circumstances that led us all here are not. Thank you for joining us as we mourn the loss of Vanoss.”

Brock clears his throat, doing his best to wipe away a tear. “I was one of the first people who knew him. When I met Vanoss, or Evan, he was a college senior student who had no idea what to do with his life. He needed money, I needed a family, and we both provided each other with that. Tyler came along, and then the rest of us just ended up being the Banana Bus Squad.”

There’s a few whispers of surprise. Half the gangs in this room watched Evan rise into power and the other half formed when he had already achieved it. 

Brock’s voice rings out clearly across the room even as it's marred by tears. “Evan Fong was one of the best people I had ever known. There will never be anyone like him, nor will anyone ever fill that gap. I love you very much my friend, and I hope you’ve found peace.”

You wait until the clapping has died down, and by then Nogla has already taken his spot.

One by one they all say something. And when the BBS is over, various gang members get up to say something good about the owl. 

When they’re finished, someone takes the stand and glares out over the crowd. You meet Delirious’s gaze and don’t flinch.

“Vanoss is my best friend in the whole wide world.” Del says, daring anyone to disagree with him. No one would; other than you, Delirious was also the most important person to Evan. 

“I swear, that motherfucker had actual wings. I’ve never seen him so alive when we were on heists and we had to do height shit. I’m not a fan, but Evan was someone who reveled in heights. Even if he fell, he would always be okay.” Jon’s voice cracks on the last note, and you fight the urge to let him cry into your chest.

“When the BBS got bigger, he wanted to let the newer recruits get a chance on the field, so he fell back and let them do the daredevil stunts. He loved to join us out there, and the fact that he died doing something he loved lessens the blow a bit.” Jon’s blue eyes pierce the crowd; not even for a single moment would he ever take the mask off, and it shows true courage as he recalls his best friend. 

“I loved that stupid owl very much and nothing is ever going to change that, dead or not.” Jon says firmly. “Thank you.”

He steps down and you can see a glimmer of red and blue next to you; it’s Smitty, who has purposely widened his eyes so you could see that he was hoping you’d go to the stand. Yeah. You should. 

Before they finish with whatever they’re doing, you get up, and it immediately goes dead silent. Evan’s red jacket was his signature look before he changed it to his Bat Owl outfit, and the bright side was that the jacket got attention towards it.

The podium is cold and so are your hands as you settle them. “Hi,” you rasp out to the gangs. “My name’s Tyler, but most people know me as Wildcat.”

Several people stiffen and sit up in their seats. Of course they would; you’re infamous among many for your violent ways and closeness to Evan. You’re very well-known throughout Los Santos.

You don’t want to disclose that much personal info, but you allow yourself to open up a tiny bit. “Over a year ago, I got a crush on him. After my friends persuaded me to ask him out, I learned he also liked me and I knew our relationship would be great.”

You try to ignore your shaking hands. “I loved him with all of my heart. Delirious is absolutely right; he may not have actual wings, but he made my heart soar and his love made me feel like I was immortal.”

The BBS crew is still wiping away their tears as you conclude your speech. “Evan will always have a piece of my heart. He was loved by many, and he will be continued to be loved no matter what.”

You step down to the applause that shakes the funeral. It’s too much, _too much,_ so you hurry outside to avoid the crowd. 

You were able to see his body for a split second. There wouldn’t have been one if you hadn’t carried him out, so people were grateful for that. 

You force yourself to stay outside, eyes glassing over as you thought about your past and future. As people leave, they whisper condolences, and you give them a nod and a thanks. 

You’re not sure how long you’re out there, but someone finally sits down next to you. It’s Nogla; he reaches over and hesitantly wraps an arm around your shoulder.

You’re so exhausted you don’t even protest. He takes this as an opportunity to finally say something to you. “If you were trying to avoid them, they’re all gone now. You’ll be the last person to see him.”

The steps you take to his casket are the heaviest ones you’ve ever done. Not even the ones you took when you carried him outside the burning warehouse were the worse; you were on adrenaline and praying that he was still alive, but you knew he was already dead. 

His casket is open. You reach it with Nogla keeping a respectable distance and peer inside, feeling yourself choke with emotion.

Evan’s paler than usual and he looks peaceful. His black hair is smooth and you’re suddenly thrown back to the times when you’d stay up just to watch him sleep next to you, even as he mumbled and crushed the life out of you when he slept.

There’s a burning sensation down your cheek. Shocked, you wipe away at it and realize it’s a tear.

“Tyler?” Nogla asks, voice full of compassion. “You don’t have to hold it in. You gotta let us help.”

“At a later date.” You immediately say. “Not right now.” 

You briefly intertwine your fingers with Evan’s cold ones and you press a goodbye kiss to his forehead. Nogla leads you outside to where the rest of the gang is surprisingly waiting for you. 

Most of the hostility has died away. They’re understanding that it’ll be a while until you’re ready to talk.

You can hear Brock telling the crew that he’s really certain it’s PTSD. “There’s really no other word, he watched Evan die in front of him and he had to carry him out. He also avoids fire and he hasn’t held a gun in a long time.”

“That’s right, he carries around his old baseball bat.” John nods. He glances at Smitty, who looks a bit downcast.

“He tried opening up to me, but it was too much for him. I think you’re right Brock. Tyler definitely has some PTSD.”

You and Nogla rejoin the group and they all head home. As usual, you barely say goodnight before you escape to Evan’s room and collapse into his bed, still wearing his jacket and hoping you can still smell the faint scent he left behind.

* * *

Three months, a week, and two days after the day Evan Fong died, something rises up in your throat like bile.

That’s it. You’ve lost.

A ball of emotion builds in your chest and it’s too late. You throw open the door to his room and hurry down the hallway, tears welling in your eyes.

Marcel catches sight of you first. “Tyler?” He asks, but your eyes are wide and your breath is coming fast and _it’s too much._

The agony is shaking in your bones. The fire is so painfully bright and daunting and Evan’s screech is loud in your ears.

 _“I love you,”_ he had said before he went in guns blazing. 

The front door gets thrown open and sounds of astonishment echo in the distance from the crew. 

You can feel your infamous rage building back up in your stomach. It burns and hisses and you collapse to your knees in the street, gasping for air. 

“Oh, shit.” Brian says from the door. 

Your time is up, and of course Brock was right. _“He wouldn’t have wanted this,”_ Brock had insisted. 

Your breakdown has you screaming, tears cascading down your cheeks and getting your pants wet. The anger burns in your throat and you choke on sobs, fist colliding with the pavement. 

“WHY?!” You scream into the sky. “THIS WASN’T FAIR!!! THIS WASN’T FUCKING FAIR! IT SHOULD’VE BEEN ME!”

You loved him so, so much. He was your world and your anchor. 

Why the fuck did it have to be _him?_

You wail, feeling a few months worth of tears and emotions spill into the light. Your breakdown only takes about three minutes but it feels like a lifetime.

When it’s done, you exhaustedly slump over, and you spot ratted sneakers in your vision. Your eyes burn and hot tears still trail down your cheeks. 

“Wildcat,” the sneakers say, and you struggle to look up at Jon’s naked face. No mask, no makeup. He tilts his head, studying you with an expression you can’t identify. “How are you feeling now?”

“Delirious!” Luke snaps from the porch where everyone else is also standing. “Leave him be!”

“He’s been alone this whole time,” Delirious declares, offering you his hand. You stare at it in surprise and after a moment, you firmly grasp it and get hauled up. “You and I know that no one should ever be alone, and he especially doesn’t deserve it.”

Jon drapes an arm over your shoulder. “I had my breakdown two weeks after it happened. I did the exact same shit you did. We all still want to know exactly what happened, but you gotta help us help you. You need to heal just as much.”

“Evan would’ve wanted me to heal,” you mutter, weakly holding on. “He wouldn’t have wanted me to bottle it up.”

“Yeah, that’s true, but we knew you’re not like that.” Delirious says firmly. “We’ve been waiting for this to happen. Everyone needs to grieve, Tyler, and now it’s your chance for that.”

He takes you into the house, the crew following behind.

“At the funeral,” your fingers clutch onto the blue hoodie, “I cried for a second and that was it. It’s been numb the past couple of months; and now it _hurts.”_

“It needs to hurt,” Brian retorts from the middle of the pack. “That’s how you heal. But right now, you need rest. We’ll grab some food when you wake up. You gotta go sleep.”

Your dear friends lead you to your own room. The sheets have already been pulled back. One by one, they whisper encouragement to you and leave. You change into a clean pair of PJs and turn to spot Delirious looking down. 

“You didn’t deserve my anger,” Jon’s voice cracks. “I couldn’t handle the thought of him gone. I still barely can. But we’ll all do this together as a team. I’m sorry, Tyler.”

After your emotional mess, you’re exhausted, but you still bring in the assassin and wrap him into a deep hug. “I forgive you,” you murmur. “I understand. Together, never alone ever again.”

Delirious gives you a weak smile and heads off so you can sleep. Sinking into your mattress is quite possibly one of the best feelings ever, and the last thought on your mind is the possibility of fully healing and dealing with this as best you can.

Evan would’ve wanted this.

You definitely want this.


	2. recovery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ajsjksfjkga you guys are so sweet to me; Dani, Fangirl, y’all comment on my stories a lot and I cherish each and every review
> 
> I teared up writing this chapter rip
> 
> I’ll have oblivion’s second chapter out soon!

To recover is to heal. To heal is to deal with what happened.

A week after your breakdown, you find the courage to shuffle out of your room and you take Evan’s jacket with you. 

_He’s laughing, eyes crinkling with joy as you scream your confession after plummeting from the top of a coaster. “I REALLY LIKE YOU TOO!” He shouts over the wind._

_When you disembark, you refuse to acknowledge the fact that you’re shaking and Evan takes your hand. “Why’d you shout it from there?” He asks, amused as you narrow your eyes. “I’m not complaining because I’d love to date you, I’m just wondering why right there.”_

_You take a few seconds to compose your answer. “Because you love heights, and I’m terrified of them and telling you that secret. Figured it’d work out.”_

_Evan’s smile is so fucking radiant as he leans up to kiss you and you cannot help but feel like he’s home as you close your eyes._

The boys are eating lunch as you sit down. The circles under your eyes are still there, but you look a bit healthier as you give a small smile to them. 

“Afternoon,” Anthony greets you as he shovels fries into his mouth. “Want any?”

“Sure,” you croak out, and Nogla and Smitty dump a lot of fries on your plate. 

You eat them slowly and watch as Marcel and Brian look at you. “How’re you feeling?” Marcel asks, nicer than usual. You raise an eyebrow and snort. “A little better. I wanna eat so much fast food, but my stomach is telling me no.”

“My heart’s telling me yes,” Brian mutters, and Brock bursts out laughing before offering you a drink. 

You try to take it slow. It’s been a while since you’ve eaten a lot, so you need to pace yourself. The fries are salty and still warm; you try to focus on them instead of your original thoughts.

_You’ve never noticed that you’re the one that’s clingy. Evan says it’s endearing and he always enjoys when you come back from heists and clings onto him._

_“Jon said you almost got shot,” he says one day. “Where?”_

_You gesture to your cheek; the bullet barely grazed your face and Brock had already cleaned it. “It’s fine, honestly.”_

_Evan frowns and leans up to caress your cheek. “You could’ve been hurt.”_

_“I wasn’t though.”_

_Evan rolls his eyes and wraps himself around you. “You’re taking the day off, babe. I want you all to myself.”_

_You grin and blow him a kiss. “I can’t argue with that.”_

“I think…” You pause, successfully swallowing the fries. “I think I want to talk about it.”

There’s only a few members of the squad at the table; most of them are either at the store or doing whatever they want. It’s Brian, Brock, Nogla, Smitty, Anthony, and Marcel, and all of them have jaws dropped and eyes wide.

Nogla opens his mouth to say something but Marcel silences him immediately. “It’s your choice,” Brock says calmly, but his hands are shaking. 

You swallow and nod. “You guys already know the first part of the heist. Mini headed off, and I went with Evan. We kept taking out people and we stumbled upon the office we needed to get into. We had no clue it was wired with a trap.”

Smitty lets out a shaky exhale.

“There was so much gunpowder. It coated the floors, the walls, us, and the documents.” You swallow. “Since the building was under attack, it made sense that a gun would set it off.”

“The fire,” Brian whispers. 

“The boss was some guy trying to rise to power, and of course we crashed it so he shot the gunpowder. I went after him and Evan—“

Your throat closes. _Fuck. Shit._

Nogla’s eyes widen. “Tyler?”

“Shit,” you croak out. “No, please, I wanted to be ready. I wanted to say it!”

There’s a sad sigh around the table; none of them are upset, but it’s a bit disheartening. “It’s okay dude,” Anthony gives you a small smile. “You just need more time.”

You sigh and continue eating your fries. There’s nothing else you can do when that happens, so you just wallow in memories and enjoy the quiet presence of your friends.

* * *

To your surprise, it's Brian who recommends a therapist.

"Anger issues," he explains one day over breakfast. You're falling asleep so every ten minutes you have John or Smitty poke you. "It's helped a lot. I think it'll help you, Tyler. You can get a certain kind of therapist to deal with PTSD."

Your automatic instinct is to say, "I don't have that."

Immediately, the gang puts down their forks and stare at you. Scotty's the first to say anything. "Dude."

"What?" You protest. "I don't have some stupid disorder."

Lui stops from drowning his pancakes in syrup and pulls out a lighter, flicking it on. The moment the flame appears, your chair hits the ground as you stand up and flinch away from it. Luke just raises an eyebrow. "You ready to stop being a stubborn bitch?"

"Whatever." You snap. Craig gives you a disappointed look that makes you hesitate. "What the fuck would a therapist do anyways?"

"It's a way to vent out emotions that won't be bias," Brian explains as you sit back down. "If you say something here, like the first time, we might already have our own opinions because we know you two really well."

"Wow Brian, when did you get so smart?" Nogla huffs, and the table dissolves into laughter. You crack a grin and poke at your pancakes, wordlessly thanking Anthony as he leans over to pour maple syrup on your food. You finally eat a bite and relax a bit as it finally starts to have a taste. 

Hm. You'll think about it.

* * *

(You eventually end up going.

She has silver hair and hazel eyes, and her name is Kelly and she's kind to you. She listens to every word and nods through it.

It takes you about two weeks for her to fully gain your trust, and she gets bits and pieces out of you in the next several weeks.

The crew was right. You never would've been able to do this with them, and you eventually reach the end of your story with your therapist. She recommends a therapy dog. _"They help you relax and clear your thoughts,"_ she had explained. _"Do you have a preference?"_

You went with Mini. He watched as you crouched down to view a gorgeous Dalmatian with sad eyes. The moment you saw him, he perked up and wagged his tail. _"That one,"_ you pointed. _"He's gonna be called Kino and I already love him."_

You pretended not to notice Craig wiping away his tears as you wrapped yourself around Kino after the papers were signed. With a vivid red leash attached to his collar, he walked obediently alongside you and filled your weakened heart with love. 

Kelly diagnoses you with PTSD and mild depression. _"Your depression isn't severe like most cases, but it's because you're very good at repressing."_ She tells you. _"Tell me something about Evan."_

_"I loved him."_

She sighs. _"I know. Something else, though. What did he like to do? What did he love about you?"_

Next to you, Kino lifts his head as you straighten your spine. _"...He loved the ocean. He played guitar and remixed music and he loved the way I laughed and how loyal I was to everyone. I made other people laugh and kept things exciting. He said he loved my eyes."_

Kelly gives you a sad smile. _"But you're repressing what he did for you, in the end."_

_"It should've been me."_

_"Who would've gotten Kino out of the pound?"_ She asks, gesturing to the darling of your heart. _"Do you think Evan would've gotten him out of there?"_

Your jaw clenches and Kino automatically nuzzles your palm. _"Evan was a cat person."_

_"Then it's a good thing you're still here,"_ Kelly replies, and the realization nearly brings you to tears. _"You're here for a good reason, Tyler. He would've wanted you to keep on living for something. Whether it be Kino, your friends and family, or even yourself in his memory, it's something. I talked to one of your friends when he drove you here; the one with the gradient tank top?"_

 _"Brock,"_ you supply. _"He's the mom of the group."_

Kelly does genuinely laugh at that. _"He sure seemed like the type. I asked him about you and Evan and he said you two helped balance each other out. He also said that Evan spoke highly of you and he loved you very much."_

You exhale slowly and reach down to pet Kino. _"Yeah. He did."_

 _"You said your job profession deals with fire, yes?"_ Kelly's eyes are incredibly bright as she stares you down. _"You have to ease into it slowly. Overcoming an element like this is not easy. Don't expect yourself to be over it soon. Take your time, and be patient. Have a loved one help you with simple things, like lighting a match. It's like exercise; the more you do it, the easier it gets."_

You huff and narrow your eyes. _"And what else, Doc?"_

Kelly taps her painted nails against her clipboard. _"Try to think happy thoughts about Evan. Brock told me you have nightmares about his death. I think it'd be better to focus on love rather than the opposite."_

You fold your arms over your chest. _"And have me wake up crying?"_

 _"It'd be better than nightmares,"_ she reasons. _"Take it easy, Tyler."_

It's a goodbye. Kelly's done her best, and you've allowed yourself to be helped. Your tears soak her shirt and she just tightens her grip on you during the hug you give her. _"Best of luck,"_ she whispers. _"I'm proud of how far you've come."_

You go home with a dog and a weight somewhat lifted off your heart. 

Progress, at least.)

* * *

You used to not be good at storytelling. You'd end up rushing the ending and skip over important details or get too excited and forget bits and pieces. Marcel and Smitty were always the best ones to tell stories. 

Maybe it's why your words stack up and then shatter. You will never be able to find the right way to tell them what happened.

How do you explain the fire? The way your tears dripped onto Evan's face as you kissed him before he died? The way you can't be around guns or flames so you carry a permanent blanket with you to stay warm and stick to baseball bats with nails embedded?

Trauma is a nasty thing to deal with. Most of it for you is instinct; you automatically move away from things that remind you of it. You cry more to try and relieve the pressure in your chest, but it doesn't always work. 

The crew goes on more heists and someone will always stay behind to make sure you're alright. You're always on edge when they have to leave; what if someone doesn't come back??

(You know the gang is better than this. They wouldn't allow themselves to get hurt if they couldn't help it, and nowadays they were taking extra precautions to make sure the incident never happened again.)

But it still hurts.

You try to recite it to yourself in the mirror, starting with the beginning and making your way in. The moment you reach the gunpowder part, you shut down and can't open up again. 

This is BULLSHIT.

 _"Could you see yourself spending the rest of your life with me?" Evan asks as he holds your hand, curled up against your jacket. The two of you are on a picnic date, staring at the stars. You're feeling loving today so you lean down to press a gentle kiss to his cheek. "Of course I could."_

_Evan looks a bit sad and you cup his cheek. "What's wrong? Do you want to talk about it?"_

_After a few moments, he relents and sighs. Evan's gotten a lot better at opening up about his feelings. "I'm scared. I love you so much but what if you get hurt? Doing this shit isn't easy, and you risk your life every day for me and the crew. What happens if something goes wrong?"_

_"We'll get through it. We always do, remember?" You quietly remind him of Brian's broken arm earlier that day. It would heal eventually, but it just meant that the Irishman was going to whine for the next few weeks._

_Evan snuggles against you. "Yeah. We will."_

That was the night you could touch the stars.

After dreaming about that moment one final time, you realize what has to happen. You _need_ another breakdown. It...it has to happen. There will be no other way. You've asked the crew to take you to his gravestone when the time is right. 

Fuck. It'll be a while, but in the end, you hope it's worth it.

* * *

Much like your breakdown, something builds up into your throat like word vomit. You're fairly certain you overloaded yourself when you lit a fire in the fireplace and set someone's gun (you're pretty sure it's Marcel's) on the floor next to you. 

In your mind, you can see the scene reenact, and it's _too much too much too much._

You’re shaking when Jon finds you curled up in the hallway with Kino next to you and he immediately drives you and the gang to Evan's gravestone at your former request.

It’s the first time you've seen it; it's a magnificent stone with wings carved into it. Countless flowers are littered over the dirt and you can practically feel the love pouring out from the grave.

You choke on a sob and curl yourself around the stone, tears dripping into into the dirt. Kino pads his way over to you and lays down at your side, whining. “The fire was so hot,” you hiccup. “It spread so fast and it was hurting and we were both burning and then the boss pointed his gun at me.”

Someone inhales; you don’t look up to see who it is. Judging from the shoes, it might be Kyroz. “He said ‘Sayonara, Wildcat’ and shot me.”

“You didn’t have any gunshot injuries,” Brock whispers. The autopsy and injury report had been released a long time ago. Evan had a single gunshot and burn marks; you had multiple burns, gashes, and scratches. You were fairly lucky that you hadn't broken any bones, but still. 

You choke out a laugh and shaky hands pet Kino's head. “And I wouldn’t have any after Evan threw himself in front of me.”

The entire gang has probably figured that out but they still reel back, stunned at the revelation. “He got shot and he _screamed_ and that has haunted my sleep for months.” You shut your eyes. Evan’s face of pain is still so vivid; it was the reason you had stopped sleeping, but as you talk about what happened, the image starts to fade.

"I...I lost it. I had no gun, no weapon, but I went after the boss." You recall. The warmth of Kino gives you the courage to keep on going. "He wasn't expecting me to react that quickly so I shoved him into an area where they were storing traps. I'm not gonna lie, it was pretty damn revengeful to watch him die. I have no regrets about that. It was definitely slow."

Marcel pats you on the back. Brian's eyes are suspiciously red and Daithi's already sniffing. Brock's quietly crying while Jon studies your face, no makeup in sight. The rest of the crew is paying very close attention to the story.

"Evan was making a stupid fucking joke about not having a slow death," you gasp out. "What an asshole, right? He said something about Jon and plan E, and then he tried telling me of the time I asked him out." 

Delirious pales as a few people look at him. You pause and look up, tears still streaming down your face. "Delirious, what's plan E?"

"I'll tell you after," he promises, and you hiccup and resume. "He managed to get through our first kiss and by then there was too much blood staining the ground. There was SO MUCH."

Your hands are shaking as you trace Evan Fong on the gravestone. "I honestly couldn't even tell the fire was hurting because the love of my life was DYING in front of me and I couldn't do anything about it!! I kissed him and he said I love you and he died."

It was the way he probably would've wanted to go out. Evan was in his element, saved your life, stuffed the documents in your pocket (Lui found them later), and got to say his last words to you. A perfect death seems super shitty but it was the one Evan wanted. 

What an asshole. 

You lean back, exhausted, and the crew immediately clings onto you. You've said your peace; they have the full story. It's over. 

Something heavy lifts off your chest and you shakily exhale into the air. 

It's quiet for several minutes as your family processes the death of Evan. Just as you almost fall asleep, a familiar voice startles you awake. "Del, what's plan E?" Nogla asks, wiping his tears away. 

You glance at the rest of them. Everyone seems confused; hell, even Brock shakes his head. Did Evan only tell one person...?

Jon gets up and clears his throat. "I...well...this was a last effort plan. It was one of those 'just in case I don't come back'."

You tilt your head, confused. "What?"

"I didn't think I'd ever have to do this," Jon wetly laughs. He digs his hand into his blue hoodie pocket and drops to one knee.

Oh.

Oh shit.

Your eyes go huge and everyone _gasps._

"Plan E is engagement," Jon tries not to smile as tears drip down his cheeks. "And he wanted to make sure you got this no matter what."

He pulls out a black box and takes out a piece of paper that's been folded many, many times. This isn't real. He didn't actually—he wouldn't have—he did...?

Next to you, Smitty chokes on a loud sob, and John holds his hand. Brock even clings onto Brian while Craig puts his hand on your shoulder, eyes wide. "No fucking way."

Jon balances the box on his knee as he opens the piece of paper. "To my romantic partner in crime, the man who stole my heart, and the love of my life. Tyler, I met you so long ago and you were a whirlwind that I could never expect to befriend and then fall in love with. You were the one that helped me become the leader I needed to be; for my family, and for Los Santos. How could I possibly explain how much you mean to me?"

To your embarrassment, you sob yourself, and you wave off Craig's tissue. 

"You hold the key to my heart, Tyler. There is no other person I want to spend the rest of my life with. I fucking love you so much. If Jon's the one reading this letter, then it means I can't be there to say these words to you. Just know that I bought this ring to symbolize our love till the end of time."

Jon puts down the letter and opens the box to reveal an exquisite black ring that's lined with red and pink. It's shining in the light and you already want it on your finger. "Tyler Wine," Jon says, voice cracking as his stance shifts, "will you marry Evan Fong?"

God, yes. 

You're already choking as you violently nod and he hands you the ring instead. Your fingers are trembling and you can barely hold it but Craig steps in and gently slides it onto your ring finger. 

It's a perfect fit. Just as you thought.

It's too much so you curl up and sob, feeling your heart bleed onto the ground. Craig clings on, followed by Brian and Daithi and Smitty and Anthony and Scotty and you finally, finally cry with all of them in a place where everything feels like home. 

(For a split second, you can feel the brush of feathers on your cheek, but the feeling slip away as Kino noses his way in and licks your face.

You don't think anything else about it.)

* * *

As Evan would've wanted, you manage to bring yourself back into heists. It takes more time and you go on a simple robbery spree with Marcel, Brian, and Smitty. You're back in your element as the store alarms go off and you're hurrying out with a bag in your hands. Smitty has a giant bag full of energy drinks and soda while Brian has several coffees. 

You glance over at Marcel and grin, feeling your cheeks hurt as you spot him running with food in his hands. "JUST GET IN THE CAR!" Marcel screeches as Smitty bursts out laughing, jumping into the backseat. Brian grins as he closes the door behind him.

"Why the fuck did you grab so much food?" You ask as Marcel floors it away from the wailing store. Marcel glances at your hands and you realize you're fidgeting with the ring as usual. 

He gives you a small smile before breaking into the loud and angry person you all love. "Because I FUCKING CAN!"

"We can just buy snacks from Walmart," Brian snickers. "Or steal them for free, whatever." 

You settle back into your seat and close your eyes, noticing the hum of adrenaline beneath your skin. It vibrates in your bones and yeah, you were made to do this lifestyle. You're living to carry on Evan's legacy and keep your team together.

You're not the leader; no one can ever fill his role, so it became a kind of democracy. You're not complaining; you didn't want the position anyways, and you're glad to be equal with everyone.

(You still deal with your trauma. It'll be a long road, but at least you won't do it alone.)

Several stacks of money go flying from your bag and land in everyone's laps. You press a loving kiss to your ring to the pride of Marcel, Brian, and Smitty watching. "Let's go call up Luke and Jon," you declare. "I wanna go blow some shit up."

"Good man," Brian grins, and you watch as the sun goes down in the city your lover rebuilt so you could have a good life while he watched over you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this story was pretty fun to write; as someone who read and wrote fanfics for homestuck, second person is super easy for me to write, and I like to write people healing.

**Author's Note:**

> <3


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